Seeing is Believing
by and-we-will-come-back-home
Summary: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… Or at least that's the only way how Flint Lockwood could describe what happened over the previous 6 months." And now, a new enemy is on the rise, swearing peril upon not only Sparkswood, but the world itself. The team of 5 will not be enough. They will need all the help they can get, even when they don't search for it.
1. All in a Day's Work

All in a Day's Work

 _1_

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… Or at least that's the only way how Flint Lockwood could describe what happened over the previous 6 months. Sparkswood Labs was flourishing, and Flint's favorite part of the day was watching the sun set behind the gray tower. As spring approached and the clock struck 8, all the lights that Sparkswood Labs had to offer would blanket the building. After all, there was beauty in science, no matter how boringly mathematical, dull and dreary it may appear to ignorant students, or better yet to people in general. While they sat together hand in hand, Flint and Sam would discuss the future for their creation before the dusk. They contemplated and pondered what would bring in the new, and when the stars finally came out to play, they would settle their thoughts with a tender kiss. Flint, during those overwhelming, impeccable, charming and everything wonderful moments, decided that spring was now the first of his favorite seasons.

Yet beyond this little island out on the west coast, there was great distress. The fall of Live Corp occurred rapidly in 2 weeks' time; employment rate dropped significantly in the city of San Franjose. Walls and barriers were torn down without hesitation, and due to only a restricted amount of jobs available in the town, many fled to different states. A few fled to Arizona – a few to Washington, a few to New York. A few here, a few there, and some workers of the fallen company even attempted to apply for positions at Flint's new laboratory. Whilst this resulted in long and stressful interviews (with the support of Barb) because of the distrust the gang had in former Live Corp employees, a handful of them were accepted to start anew. Of course, security was stricter around them while they were completing their work. Earl had to accept double time every now and then to maintain order, but no problems have yet been created with the new staff.

Watching the deconstruction of Live Corp was unfortunately a guilty pleasure for the Sparkswood Lab's cofounders. The unemployment rate was sad, but the demolition had to be carried out. Flint had always wanted to be a part of such a team for years, but it was obvious that some dreams of his were never meant to be. The anger they each held onto tempted them into smirking, the team turning away when the news announced that Live Corp was a company that chances are could never be revived. Tables were swiftly turned. The success of Sparkswood Labs outshined any accomplishments the other company managed to achieve. But the fate of the new laboratory, the foodimals and his friends rested in Flint's hands. There was no time for sulking, brooding, weeping, or questioning what could've been. At their rate, it wasn't something that could be afforded. Now was the time to inspire, design, create and spread the numerous ideas that Sparkswood's minds produced to all across the globe.

The team was on guard. Around every corner they took, each of them expected something bad to happen. Nevertheless, despite the high vigilance, routine began to return. Life returned.

* * *

"Flint, you've got to come look at this!" Sam exclaimed, her palms pressed against the circular glass of the incubator. It had been months before she could witness what the globe contained. She could hardly believe what was being displayed before her, even with her safety glasses on. Unique noises from other experiments sputtered in the background, along with the quick pitter patter of her partner's footsteps.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"The flamangos are hatching!" The meteorologist gazed in awe as tiny chirps started out soft, then began to grow. Beady eyes, little feet and a flurry of orange, red and green wobbled out of the pale shells. A couple of the dozen stumbled once or twice, but the warm nest equipped with straw softened their fall. The blue hues of Flint's eyes expanded.

"Aww, they're so cute!" he cooed.

"Open it up; hurry!"

Flint pressed the seal button. A silent hiss escaped as the glass slid back into its socket. Holding out their hands, the two watched as the hatchlings cooed and churred against their fingertips. The lab was warmed with little giggles while the newborn flamangos happily nuzzled their caretakers' hands. Sam always cherished moments like this and as for Flint, whenever he saw the wonder in her eyes when she interacted with the foodimals, he felt like he really could freeze time, even if just for a few seconds.

"They'll fit right in with the other families," he stated contently. "Once the mother's wing heals, we'll release them back to their natural habitat."

The adult flamango rested in a cage nearby, comforted with blankets and a small harness around her tattered limb. Due to dryness of the climate, a small fire was formed in the Veggie Forest just southeast of the laboratory. Sam was lucky enough to come across the birdlike family during a patrol almost 5 weeks ago. With the help of their experienced ornithologists, they managed to restore her wing into a process where healing could occur. Rescuing injured foodimals was just another one of the hundreds of responsibilities Sparkswood took on. The paternal, satisfying feeling was a reward to the team, especially to Sam.

"When does Brent finish his shift on the chicken farm?" she asked. "Maybe we can assign him to the next patrol. I'm sure he'd be happy to return these little ones home."

Brent had been in charge of the section of the lab that contained all foodimals that were birdlike. He had expressed most of his excitement toward that particular branch of all the species that resided there, so Flint carried out his request to care for them. Since then, Brent had taken on chicken farms, incubator shifts in the nursery and weekly checkups on multiple habitats. Of course, a team would be sent with him to ensure that his work was in line, and he um...stayed on task. After all, Brent was prone to silly distractions and wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

"That's a great idea! I'm not sure when he gets off, but I'll let him know straight away. Maybe we can – "

"Sh-sh-shhh. Wait," she interrupted. "Listen."

Flint stood still. All he could hear were dials from the computers in. the background.

"I don't hear anythi..."

And then he felt it. It started out as a small shake, then a hurried, patterned rumble. _Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump._

"Saaaaam! Fliiiiiint!"

"Earl?" they both questioned, looking at one another and back to the nursery entrance. The door slammed open, almost falling off its shaking hinges.

" **Sam! Flint!** Come quick; we've got a _Code 9!_ "

* * *

Sparkswood Labs had constructed an emergency coded system designed for any kind of foodimal problem its members were to come across. The system consisted of codes 1-12, 1 ranked as the lowest and least worrisome discord, while 12 ranked the highest and most dangerous. It took a month to establish a good start on the training program that was paired with it, but even codes 8-12 have unfinished training portions that are still in the works.

"Sam! Slow down, please!" Flint swung, pushed and shoved through multiple branches that blocked his vision. Sam moved like lightning, sprinting through the vines followed by Earl. Panting and heaving, Flint did his best to keep up. Brent followed behind him along with Manny. An abrupt stop occurred. The man in the chicken suit cowered behind Flint as the scientist stepped forward. Their voices were taken away.

The riverbank was empty. Not a nest, egg or flamango was in sight.

"I thought it was nothing, at first," Earl murmured when he stepped forward. Distraught, he reached into his side and pulled out a wooden clipboard. "It started out so little, like 1 or 2. I thought maybe they had run off and would be back." He flipped the page, scrolling through the numbers. "I took count of how many there were each day. But then I looked at the charts."

While it was correct that the population decreased only by a few each day in the beginning of the month, it was approaching the end of May and now there were only 43 of the birds left. Displayed before them in the moment, however, were none.

"This does not make any sense. There were 43 left. How could they have just disappeared all in one night?" Manny questioned.

"And on their own," Flint added. Brent took a look around, puzzled.

"Hey, where did all the foodies go?"

"Wherever they went or whoever may have taken them, we have to get them back." Sam looked away from the charts, turning her attention to the policeman. "If it's happened to these guys, who's to say the other foodimals won't be targeted? Our security needs to be doubled. What's the status on our perimeter checks?"

"We have cameras, but not all habitats have been covered just yet, so I've been patrolling the surrounding fences of the forest for nights on end. Not once have I seen broken entrances or heard crazy things. The birds should have been fine! I don't know how I could've missed this."

They began to look around for any sign of tracks, whether it was the prints of flamangos or of people. Every tree base, every curve of the riverbank, and even every bush was checked. There was nothing to be found. The sun began its descent into the west, twilight quickly creeping upon the forest. The shades of the tree bark all around grew dim. Life within Swallow Falls was always beautiful at this hour, but now wasn't the time for marveling.

"We need to get this part of the forest cleared out before any other foodimals go missing," Flint declared. "I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this. Until then, we can assign bigger patrol groups. We'll need more than 1 person in 1 area if we're going to solve this."

Sam nodded, silent and thinking. The winds of spring weaved through the trees. A gentle night chill was on its way, serving as a reminder for them to turn back.

"I will warn Barb. It's time to go home."


	2. Governed Retribution

Governed Retribution

 _2_

Shelbourne knew that the Arizona State Prison was in no shape or form pleasant. Not to mention the multiple doctors that he was forced to visit due to his weight gain. The court sentenced him to 24 years of prison time for the influenced damage to the town of Swallow Falls, or at the time known as Chew and Swallow. Flint Lockwood and his father confirmed the poor conduct that the mayor expressed during the lab. Had he not been in the way, the destruction of Swallow Falls could have very well been avoided. Any leftovers could have been taken care of in a far shorter amount of time compared to the collateral impairment the town suffered from. The former mayor knew he should have never eaten the food boat he was on, and he paid a cold price for it: time behind bars. Nevertheless, that didn't mean Shelbourne was entirely shut from the world.

 _"Current events for your Monday report: deconstruction of the former company_ Live Corp _is down to its last 2 days of work before completion. Confirmation of the death of Chester V, CEO of_ Live Corp _was announced last Saturday, September 28th. Citizens of San Franjose are..."_

He watched the television's anchorman ramble on and on about the broken business. It was a rinky-dinky, dusty old thing, probably dating back to the 1980s, barely hanging on to the hook that equipped it close to the cracked ceiling. The channels rapidly cut in and out quickly, a reminder of what was left behind at Swallow Falls. Sitting close, however, earned him the ability to hear better compared to those who attempted to watch from the back of the cafeteria. Sometimes the obnoxious voices and miscellaneous noises crawled under his skin when he was trying to pay attention, especially with upcoming town elections, but the topic of today was none of his concern. And whenever the Lockwoods were on, interviewed by what seemed like every news station that could ever exist, Shelbourne did everything in his power to tune the damn thing out.

 _Doesn't matter,_ he thought. _Leftover expenses should take care of this situation._ He would take care of the twerpy little twit later. Right now, he needed to get out of this hellhole. Picking at his pile of surely expired green peas with his fork, the former mayor sat alone, wishing he had more of that food weather in place of this disgusting filth the cafeteria ladies splat on his plate. He couldn't count how many dents from punches and throws were carved into the brittle plastic. Gray, gloomy, lifeless - it was these characteristics of the surrounding walls that made him feel all too familiar with his home. It was horrible, and an occasional potato or carrot would be tossed at him during his quiet moments, followed by a sharp "keep eating, fatass!" or "pigs don't sit at the table!". Repetition made it almost daily, and let's not forget the typical "that is one big mayor" quote inaudibly muttered every time he passed down the hall on his scooter. Ignoring the annoying knuckle-scrapers and projecting his hatred towards the inventor that ruined him was the only thing that kept him sane. Numerous bent metal forks and spoons were returned to the kitchen because of it. There was only one thing to do during this time of solitude: to plot and scheme.

 _That tiny idiot will pay for what he's caused._ This was just a temporary setback for his revenge. Nothing lasts forever. A little fall of rain couldn't hurt him.

"All inmates last names N through T to the visitation room!"

The prisoner smirked. He swallowed his corndog whole, wiping his orange pants.

"Perfect timing."

* * *

"I swear to God, this is the _last time_ I will do anything for you," a voice snapped. Turning his gaze upward, Shelbourne looked at the one person in his life he knew he could count on: Ben. His brother, who was far slimmer than he could now ever be, took a seat across from the rickety table, hands shuffling filed paperwork. The former mayor smirked.

"It's good to see you, too."

"Don't give me that tone. You've caused trouble in this family since the very beginning. If mom was still here, you know you'd have no way out of this."

"Blah, blah, blah - save me the lecturing, Ben. Do you have all of the ransom?" His brother glared.

"Yes, but I barely managed to get it in time. Do you have any idea how much I've _worked_ for this?" he exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. Sweeping away the stray chestnut hair on his forehead, he drew in a deep breath. He should've known his sibling would have gotten himself into another sticky situation such as this. The trouble started in middle school. He had high hopes for high school, but those were quickly crushed. It wasn't necessarily violence he got himself involved in, but the absolute indolence was astounding. College should have turned him straight, he had thought for years, but even then, well... _Mayor Shelbourne_ always had to find a way to prove him wrong. How could going to prison compared to keeping his town position - like Ben had hoped - be any different?

"You manipulated a kid, played a part in the destruction of Swallow Falls, and still don't care about losing at least some of your weight ga-"

"Hey, I've been trying to lose it!" Shelbourne's hands slammed on the table. "The doctors say that I'm doing fine. Do you have any idea how much I have to shut out the countless reminders that are given to me in the cafeteria? I can't even spend 5 minutes alone without the horrible word 'fatass' thrown at my face. Even the guards participate in the fun little game they've created!"

"That wouldn't be a problem," Ben growled, "if you hadn't been sent here. That wouldn't be a problem had you not fell for your greed and stopped the machine." The brother exchanged a swift glance at the nearby television, the news still blabbering on about a recent man's death. "You have no one to blame but yourself."

Sighing, Shelbourne held his face in his hands. His time here would be over soon - just had to hang in there.

"I'm tired of arguing. What date did they assign my release?"

"October 15th. Come tomorrow, you will have two weeks left." The bell of the visitation room tolled. Family members and lawyers stood from their tables, shuffling towards the exits. Multiple guards dressed in blue escorted the inmates back to where they were assigned, and Shelbourne could see one heading his way right now.

"Hey, look at me," Ben murmured, gaining his attention once more, gently clasping his hand. A sad look gently crossed his face, and Shelbourne stopped. He hadn't seen that expression in a long time, not since Ma passed... "Promise me you won't screw this up. _Promise_ me - if I get you out - you won't come back to a place like this."

"I will..." He trailed off for a moment. _But...but Lockwood..._ The inmate cleared his throat."I will do my best."

How painful it can be to lie through your teeth.

* * *

Sunlight poured onto the streets like coats of rain. It's been so long since he could explore beyond the prison gates, their towers of chains and thorns preventing any kind of attempted escape. Not to mention that Shelbourne didn't have the highest intellect out of all the other inmates. But to seize the day at his own will, to smell the streets again, to see families walking together hand in hand and to finally get another taste of real food was worth the time he served. Because of his unemployment, finally, he could build the hot dog stand he had always wanted to build. What better way to start than on the beach? The former mayor adored being near the water. During his toughest times, he always looked to the sea for amity. There was just something so special about it that he couldn't describe.

But that did not excuse what Flint Lockwood did. No, never - never in a thousand years. It did not excuse his banishment from being the town's mayor. It did not excuse him being sent to prison all over a stupid food machine. It did not excuse Flint casting him out into his shadow, while the town - mindless as they are - followed him with pride and applause, and still does today.

"No, he growled, "it doesn't." He looked at the signed release papers in his hand. They were grasped firmly, edges crinkling and crumpling to nothing. The sun reached its highest peak above in the afternoon sky, almost blinding the earth, and not a cloud in sight.

"On my mother's grave, I swear this: you will pay, Flint Lockwood. You will pay."


	3. Every Day A Little Death

Every Day A Little Death

 _3_

His bones ached. That much he knew. They screamed, and groaned, and he was tired. Oh, so terribly tired. The twisted trunks of the forest soared over him, their branches weaving through the navy sky like prison bars. It reminded the man of a cage being forged just for him to spend the rest of his days in whatever hell he had been cast to. Feet shuffled across the dirt, a spot of dust here and there on the black turtleneck, jeans tattered and worn just the same as his heart. The air smelt of midnight. A firefly gleamed here and there in the shadows, but he knew better than to linger there. Moonlight was much preferred. The creatures tended to avoid open areas. Instead, they loved to hide in the dark, growling and snarling whenever a noise resounded. It terrified him, leaving him to pray that one wouldn't reach out and take him away for a satisfied meal. Here, the bedtime stories were true. Here, there were monsters. The amount he normally encountered, however, had decreased recently for some strange reason. But who was he to care? He had better things to fuss about inside his head.

Recalling when he was spat out, for he had no idea how long ago his and Flint's fight was, Chester might have considered it a miracle to have found that his glasses were spared during the cheesespider's meal. Slimy, sure. Dirty, but intact. Wiping the saliva off gently with what was left of his right sleeve, he slipped the emerald shades on after the foodimal disappeared. Earlier inside the factory, he could have sworn he heard a faint voice during that horrific incident.

 _"That will leave a bad taste in your mouth."_

The scientist scoffed. Yes, indeed it must have. Not long after, the damned thing managed to regurgitate him onto the ground before running off to the rest of Flint's pack. Fortunately, none of the members were around when the foodimal coughed him up. He remembered lying completely still, fearing that if he even so much as twitched, something would surely be dead. The pitter patter of the creature's legs faded away, and after waiting a few more moments for good measure, Chester stumbled for his life. Klutzy and slow that is, due to his weakness. His lungs trembled for air for the remainder of that day, searching for shelter. A small clearing hidden behind some shrub and dense trees was his reward.

Tonight, his hunt for food began once more. The full moon gave him just enough light to find berries, apples and whatever else grew inside the forest. Most of the creatures were asleep at this hour. No disruptions, no loud noises - just calm stillness with the occasional gleam of a firefly. It was unfortunate enough that he couldn't marvel at the night's beauty. His situation was to blame for that. But the scientist felt a little bit of pride fill him on his survival skills. He was swift enough to avoid confrontation in the day, intelligent enough to learn almost every foodimal's sleep cycle, and silent enough to serve his hunger. Managing to carve a few spears, he even got his hands on some fruit cockatiels. A bow and arrow made of oak wood offered him a few shrimpanzees. Chester would dwell behind the plants along the river, keeping his aim steady as he shot for the perfect one. Shrimpanzees... Chimpanzees... Apes...

 _Barb._

He had seen red, a burning rage that fueled his mind, but now his eyes bore a green sheen. The night felt a little darker. An ache formed in his chest. How could she have betrayed him so quickly as if it was the easiest thing in the world? She had been his number 2, after all. Always had been since the very beginning, and yet, she squandered it by stealing the FLDSMDFR. How dare she display such insubordination in front of not only him at the most forsaken time, but also in front of Flint and his allies? Falling from that height almost cost him his life!

The audacity! The embarrassment! He had given her shelter, a human brain that allowed her to function and express her ideas - to give her the ability to invent by his side. Just who did she think she was to treat him with such ingratitude, and choose _them_ over him? His company? Her home?

Her deceit distracted him. His foot stumbled slightly over a twig. A grunt fell from his lips. The gash below his left knee was still processing to heal, but he pushed aside the pain. Call him cowardly for avoiding any danger at all costs, but when Chester V was ever hurt, he carried a pain tolerance high enough to get him by. The hatred that consumed him kept his nerves at bay. It numbed most if not all his wounds. His hands trembled, clenched, and shook throughout the night, wishing that he was looking into the dying gaze of the blue-eyed twit. For once, Chester wanted nothing more than to see spilt blood. He would gladly do the deed himself. And when he was sure there wasn't a sign of a pulse, that Flint Lockwood would move no more, he would mourn the loss of his company, then begin to rebuild. Somehow, someway, he knew there was a path out of this. Every obstacle is an opportunity - that's what his father said. There was always a way.

 _And yet, I've lost everything._

Emerald looked out at the mountain that bared little remains of what once stood a light bulb. The man experienced another sting of pain, this time from a cut across his right eye that barely scratched his cornea. He suddenly realized that he felt dirty. Filthy. Although he wished for a hot shower, he was lucky enough to have found a river to somewhat wash his clothes, body, and even keep his beard decent. His glasses had a little smudge in the corners, but other than that, the water washed away the dirt. Cleanliness was futile in business. No one liked dirty things.

 _Dirty things,_ he inwardly sneered. _How will I ever repair my reputation? That brat and his friends took away my workers._ His eyes narrowed, sweltering in cool flames. Never mind the hushed sound of dirt beneath his shoes. Anger deafened his ears. _They took away Barb. They took away the FLDSMDFR, my key to success! They took away my company, my pride! Everything! ...Everything._

The world stood still. Silence endured. A gentle coo of a nightingale escaped the black thickets. The inventor stayed his course, never straying from the dirt path. He was too lost in his thoughts to fulfill the reason why he came out of his shelter. Whatever appetite he had, he lost. A prayer to see a familiar face in the shadows trailed through the navy air. If only he could just have someone to speak to. Someone human. Someone real, other than himself.

"I have nothing," he murmured, not fathoming having said it aloud. Well, maybe not nothing, nothing. He still had his tools to hunt, a small blade in his back pocket and spear clutched in his left hand for protection, but the void of solitude was beginning to get to him. Not even his holograms were here to offer comfort - to serve as a backbone. It was just him, his thoughts and the silence.

Yet, still, he shuffled on. Alone, weary, and tired, but still shuffled on.

There were no stars out that night.


End file.
